"The worst storyline I've ever been involved in I wasn't involved in, because I was clever enough to get pregnant with my second child and they wrote me out and they replaced me with Christine Jones. And thank God - that was the worst storyline"
About this Quote
It lands like a confession, then twists into a victory lap. Erika Slezak isn’t doing polite retrospective PR here; she’s puncturing the soap-operatic illusion that actors are passengers in their own narratives. The punchline is the logic only daytime TV makes possible: the “worst storyline” she’s “ever been involved in” is one she strategically dodged by getting pregnant, forcing the writers to write her out and slot in a replacement. In other words, biology becomes bargaining power.
The intent is twofold. On the surface, it’s gratitude and relief - “thank God” as the bluntest possible stamp of disapproval. Underneath, it’s a pointed flex about agency inside a machine designed to deny it. Soap actors are often treated as interchangeable vessels for plot. Slezak highlights that interchangeability (“they replaced me with Christine Jones”) while simultaneously reclaiming control: she didn’t just survive the writing; she outmaneuvered it.
The subtext also carries a quiet indictment of the genre’s behind-the-scenes hierarchy. “They wrote me out” is passive voice with teeth: the writers and producers hold the pen, and a performer’s best defense can be timing, leverage, and, occasionally, a life event the production must accommodate. It’s funny because it’s frank; it’s dark because it’s true. In one breath, she exposes how storylines can feel like hazards, and how an actor learns to treat the script less like sacred text and more like weather - something you plan around if you’re smart enough.
The intent is twofold. On the surface, it’s gratitude and relief - “thank God” as the bluntest possible stamp of disapproval. Underneath, it’s a pointed flex about agency inside a machine designed to deny it. Soap actors are often treated as interchangeable vessels for plot. Slezak highlights that interchangeability (“they replaced me with Christine Jones”) while simultaneously reclaiming control: she didn’t just survive the writing; she outmaneuvered it.
The subtext also carries a quiet indictment of the genre’s behind-the-scenes hierarchy. “They wrote me out” is passive voice with teeth: the writers and producers hold the pen, and a performer’s best defense can be timing, leverage, and, occasionally, a life event the production must accommodate. It’s funny because it’s frank; it’s dark because it’s true. In one breath, she exposes how storylines can feel like hazards, and how an actor learns to treat the script less like sacred text and more like weather - something you plan around if you’re smart enough.
Quote Details
| Topic | Writing |
|---|---|
| Source | Help us find the source |
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